Monsters and Maidens
by fountainpens
Summary: Written for the comment fic meme on sansa sandor. Based on the prompt: "Future!fic, verbal sparring between Tyrion and Sandor. Tyrion makes a comment about how he once valiantly didn't force Sansa to have sex with him, and Sandor gives him the righteous smack-down he deserves congratulations on not raping a child, etc. etc. ."
1. Chapter 1

**SANSA**

Dinner with Queen Daenerys was a success. Indeed, with each day she passed in her presence, Sansa knew that Westeros had finally found a just and strong ruler. She was also pleased that the Queen took such an instant liking to her and offered whatever assistance the North required, as it rebuilt itself after the War and the Winter that followed.

"Eat shit, dwarf." Sansa was about to round another corner toward her guest rooms in the Red Keep, but stopped abruptly when she heard her sworn shield's voice, followed by Tyrion Lannister's laughter.

"Nicely put, Clegane," Tyrion responded. "I must say you've hardly changed since last we met...except for that small, sentimental addition we were just discussing. You're so bloody obvious about it too."

"Doesn't your dragon queen have some business for you to be working at? Or have you finally gotten around to fucking every whore in King's Landing and now you don't know what to do with yourself?" Tyrion laughed again, while Sansa pressed herself closer to the wall that kept her from their notice. Why was the Queen's Hand interested in her shield? Did they distrust him?

"I only meant to give you some friendly advice. The girl doesn't have an eye for the grotesques, such as ourselves," Tyrion said. Sansa wondered who this girl could be and why Sandor would want _her_...when he could have the Lady of Winterfell if he'd only say the word, especially after her marriage was finally annulled. "Trust me. I know from first hand experience. It was a cold bed I shared with her after our marriage."

Sansa's heart stopped. She knew Tyrion had two wives-one was lost, the other was herself. This conversation suddenly became doubly interesting. She chanced a slow move toward the corner of the wall and peeked around the bend, just in time to see Sandor stride closer to Tyrion, making the Imp crane his neck even further to look up at him.

"A very nice marriage that was,_ forcing_ her to wed you, to share a bed with you," Sandor growled.

"It was my _family_ who forced her. I never touched Sansa, although she was mine by right."

"By what right? Who granted it? The gods? Fuck the gods, fuck your family, and fuck you. In all the stories I've heard of that wedding day, I don't recall any that mentioned your father's knife pressed to your throat."

"It practically was. You have no idea what my fa-."

"Oh I have some idea what Lord Tywin was capable of," Sandor cut Tyrion off before he could finish. Then, he continued in a low hiss, "I know about your first marriage. I've heard the stories. He let all the guardsmen fuck her, and you were the last. How gallant."

"And I killed him for it!" Tyrion almost yelled. Sandor knelt down then and pulled the Hand in close by his doublet.

"I would have killed him _that night_," he growled back at him, their faces almost touching. "Stop trying to act the hero for killing your father or not raping a little girl. Any true man would've done the same. But you're not a man. You're right. You're a monster...just like me."

Sandor stood again and caught his breath. Tyrion stared straight in front of him, looking neither at the ground nor at the man still looming above him. Sandor seemed about to go, but looked down again and muttered, "Just fucking accept it, Imp. I know I have."

With that, he stalked away, leaving Tyrion where he stood. Sansa knew there must be another way to her rooms. She had to find it and quickly. Her evening plans had suddenly changed.


	2. Chapter 2

**SANDOR**

Gods, would the Lannisters plague him for the rest of his days? He told the little bird that coming here with that Imp as Hand would only invite gossip about their sham marriage. Now, here was the proof of it. Queen Daenerys thankfully annulled the match the day before last, but they stayed because the Queen took a liking to his little bird. Who wouldn't?

Tyrion had noticed his own liking for the girl and decided to make a jape of it. Sandor thought that there was truly nothing to notice. He was her shield, sworn to guard her day and night. He thought his nearness and his devotion would be masked by the cold veil of duty, but leave it to the Imp to pierce through all that.

He stalked through the halls he still knew so well, toward the rooms she occupied. The Queen wished to dine with her privately, and now he just had to see that she was safe back in her rooms before he drowned himself in the strongest wine he could find. It had been a long time since he'd gotten raging drunk, but tonight was the night to break that streak. What he told the Imp was partly true. Aye, they were both monsters. Unworthy of anyone, especially a woman like Sansa Stark. Yet, he lied when he told the Imp he'd accepted it.

Sandor rounded another corner, while raking his fingers against the hard red walls. His mind drifted to that morning, as the little bird broke her fast and begged him to sit next to her-a growing habit since they left Winterfell for King's Landing. She bid him try some of the jam she'd slathered over her bread, chirping about how they would soon get these fruits shipped to the North. Instead of placing the bread on his plate, however, she moved it toward his mouth and eyed him innocently over the offered food. He kept his eyes on hers as he took a bite.

"It's good," he mumbled through a full mouth. She smiled, then took her own bite and his heart ached. There was a small smear of jam on the corner of her lips. Without giving it a thought, he swiped it up, then licked his thumb with his eyes downcast. When he looked up again, he noticed her deep blush. She was about to say something, when one of the Queen's bloody guards knocked on the door and bid her follow him to the Queen. She seemed loath to go, but obeyed nonetheless.

Other similar moments littered their time in the Red Keep and, before that, their travels and even fleetingly in Winterfell. When she lingered in his arms after he pulled her off her horse or when she got slightly tipsy with him at that inn in the Riverlands or when she'd lead him around Winterfell, sharing her plans for the future, plans of stone and harvests and life. In these moments, he wondered if she wanted him. Not as a lady wanted her shield, but as a woman wants a man. Ha! Now, he thought of what he'd just told the Imp. You're not a man either, Hound. Accept it. _Accept it._

He finally reached her room and knocked lightly, hoping she'd come to the door quickly so he could go find the nearest winesink. Unfortunately, it seemed nothing was going his way tonight. He knocked again, only louder. One more time, and if she didn't open the door, he'd break it down. His knocks resounded up and down the hall, and this time they were answered.

"Sandor!" He turned his head and noticed her quickly walking down the hall from the other side.

"Decided to take the long way back, my lady?" Sandor grumbled, but she looked wonderful in her dinner clothes. The light fabrics of the South caressed her perfectly, and he inwardly wondered how he'd get used to seeing her in heavy wools again once they travelled back to Winterfell.

"Oh, is this the long way?" She giggled in confusion. "I must have made a wrong turn, but I have arrived in time nonetheless. Will you walk with me?" She finally reached him, then moved past him as she asked her question. He had no choice but to follow.

"Where are we going?" He asked while trying to keep up with her. She seemed to have a set destination, that was certain. "Half the castle is asleep, my lady."

"Not us," Sansa whispered, then grinned up at him. Sandor immediately wondered how much she'd had to drink with the Queen. "And stop it with that 'my lady' business. As you said, half the castle is asleep and no one will wonder why my sworn shield addresses me so informally."

"Aye, little bird," he said and almost chuckled. "Do tell me what your plans are though. I had plans of my own in fact."

"Indeed? And what were those?"

"Heading to a winesink."

"Oh, I see," she said, seemingly unfazed. "Have you gotten into a fight already?" He laughed outright.

"Matter of fact, I have," Sandor replied. "How did you figure that out?"

"Just something you told me once. Right in these halls, actually. Something along the lines of wine being the best thing after a fight. That...or a woman." At her last word, Sansa turned and raised an eyebrow at him. Sandor immediately began to slow his pace, then Sansa stopped him entirely and nudged him gently against a wall. She held one hand pressed to his chest and the other began sliding down his torso. "Now, tell me, Sandor," she whispered, while her hand lingered on his abdominals. "Do you want the wine..." her hand stilled against him, "or..." she began moving down again, passing his swordbelt, "the woman?"

She finally pressed her palm against his cock. He was already hard, and he could feel the warmth of her hand through his breeches. He looked down at her and saw her eyes, filled with need, longing...and some anxiety. He could see in her blue Tully eyes how much she wanted him. He groaned, but managed to grind through his teeth, "Why are you doing this?"

Sansa narrowed her eyes and squeezed him harder, "Answer my question, Hound!" He gasped against her and looked back up at her. Gods, she looked beautiful in all her Northern fury.

"The woman," he whispered. She smiled brightly, then reached up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips, which he almost had the chance to deepen before she gave his cock another rough rub and pushed herself off his body.

"Then you shall have her," she said breathlessly. "But first, we play a game." She was already moving away from him, walking backwards down the hall, while he slowly followed.

"Which game, little bird?" Sansa paused and allowed him to reach for her and pull her close.

"Monsters and maidens," she whispered in his ear. "Try to catch me." She quickly pecked him on the lips, then broke from his embrace and shifted into a sprint down the hall.

Sandor growled and ran after her.


	3. Chapter 3

**SANDOR**

They ran through the halls, and at each corner, Sandor thought he had her, but ended up just pulling a layer of silken scarves from her dress, apparently a style that the Queen had brought with her from the Free Cities. She continued flitting past his fingers, acting truly like his little bird. He dropped the silks as he ran, but he hardly gave a thought to the trail he left behind. He just kept moving toward Sansa. Her auburn hair streamed behind her, along with her soft giggles.

She rounded another corner quickly, but when he turned toward her this time, she spun and pressed herself into him. He almost lost his breath at the sudden stop, but managed to take a quick gulp before Sansa's lips met his.

The kiss was searing and passionate, unlike any Sandor had ever experienced. He felt her fingertips ghost over his cheekbones, both scarred and unscarred, then she threaded her fingers in his hair and pressed her tongue into his mouth. He responded in kind, pulling her closer to him. He could feel her warm skin through the gaps her lost silks had left behind. He pressed his fingers into the flesh of her hips, her waist, the sides of her breasts. At the last, she broke from him and gasped for air. He still held her tight. He couldn't let her go, wouldn't let himself wake up like all the times before.

"You let me catch you," he whispered hoarsely, still gasping for air after their chase and kiss.

"Yes, I did," Sansa whispered back and began pressing kisses to his neck. Then, she pulled at the laces at the top of his tunic and continued kissing and licking the skin his loosened tunic uncovered. He groaned at the feeling. Gods, she was spirited.

"You would want a monster to catch you?" He groaned this question into her hair, smelling her lavender soap and a hint of lemon perfume.

"Some maidens do," she replied. She reached up from his chest and gave him another kiss, roughly biting his bottom lip, then whispered, "Especially when it's a certain kind of monster."

He pushed her into the wall after that and pinned her down with his arms at her sides and his cock against her stomach. She moaned low when she felt him hard against her, then bucked her hips off the wall and toward him. They were bathed in the light of a nearby torch, and he could see the same fire reflected in her eyes.

Sandor took this moment to look around, then said, "We should go back to your rooms. You wouldn't-"

"No," she hissed fiercely. "You caught me here, and you shall take me here." He gasped for air on her shoulder, then gave the hall a second look and realized where exactly she'd led him.

"We're in the Tower of the Hand," he said. "I don't want that Imp seeing you like this."

"I _do_," she replied. "He will see how I _want_ a monster. He will see what he never had because I didn't want him like I _want_ you. Now, fuck me, Sandor Clegane!"

He was dumbfounded and just stared back at her a few moments, letting her words sink in. She wanted _him_. _All_ of him. Then, he'd give her all-the man, the monster-right here where the whole bloody Keep and especially the Imp could see. He pushed himself back toward her harshly and pulled more silks off her shoulder, baring a pale breast with a creamy pink nipple already peaked toward his hand. She gasped at her nakedness, then moaned when he pressed his palm to her and flicked his thumb across her nipple.

Sandor could feel her small hands gripping his sides, as she whispered, "Yes, my hound." He rubbed her harder when she called him that, knowing the calluses on his hands would roughen her smooth flesh. She only moaned louder. He pushed the silks off her other shoulder and did the same to her other breast, but now adding his mouth. He couldn't reach down far enough for a nipple, so he hoisted her up and pinned her against the wall, one hand underneath her arse and his cock aligned perfectly with her cunt. She yelped when he pulled her up, then wrapped her legs around him tightly.

He reached one hand underneath her thigh and touched her smallclothes lightly. They were soaked through. "Seven hells, you're wet, woman." She smiled and rolled her hips against him once more. Fuck, if she did that a few more times, he'd come with his breeches still tied to his waist. He could feel the blood pulsing in his cock, pulsing toward her cunt. "Tell me what you want me to do," he groaned.

Sansa gasped when she felt his cock so close to her again. "I thought I already did," she whispered back breathlessly and rolled her hips back toward him.

He let out a puff of breath at that, then muttered, "Your maidenhead." She pulled back from him then, her head resting against the wall, and pressed both her hands to his face.

"It's always been yours," she whispered. "In my dreams, my deepest desires, every day since you left me, and even stronger once you returned." He stared at her incredulously, then noticed the tears pooling in her eyes, a few spilling over onto her cheeks. He wiped her face of the streaks her tears left behind, then kissed her deeply, pressing her harder towards him and against the red walls behind her.

"It'll hurt," he said. "Especially like this." He gestured toward their standing bodies.

"Aye, it will," she whispered into his ear, then bit his earlobe and added, "you monster." He groaned and pulled himself slightly away from her, which drew a whimper from her. He pried her legs off his waist, while she wonderingly asked, "Sandor, what's wrong?"

"You've still got your smallclothes on," he said and smiled toward her. Her feet touched the floor, and he immediately pushed her smallclothes from her hips and down her legs. Without his instruction, he saw her hands reach toward the laces of his breeches and pull them loose. Then, she reached in and pulled his cock out. He groaned loudly then, both from finally getting himself free and also feeling his little bird's hands around him. "Gods," he heard her whisper. She pulled on him softly, then spread the come dripping from him up and down his shaft. One of his knees almost buckled at the sensation.

Sandor pressed his hands to her arse and whispered in her ear, "Get back up here, wolf." Sansa immediately jumped up into his arms, and he pinned her again to the wall. He looked down at her thighs and pushed the remaining silks of her dress away from where they'd join. He wanted to see every stroke.

With one hand pressed to the wall next to her and the other around his cock, he guided himself into her opening, almost sliding in completely when he felt her wetness again. He pressed slightly into her and she whimpered at the sensation. She was so fucking tight, but she wanted him. He pressed a little further and felt her hand grip the back of his neck, her nails scratching into his scalp, seeking for some purchase on his own skin. Her breathing was ragged against his neck, but then he felt her take a deep breath and took that opportunity to plunge into her.

He saw her neck bend back, and she gave a short scream that reverberated up and down the Tower. He also let out something between a gasp and a sob, but he tried to stay still while she got used to feeling him inside her. Her eyes were shut tight, and she breathed through gritted teeth. Both her hands were on his shoulders now, nails digging into his flesh, and he thought of how sweet her scratches will sting the following morning.

Once they both caught their breaths, he asked, "You alright, little bird?"

She rested her forehead against his and answered, "Yes." She took another breath and repeated, "Yes, I'm fine."

"I could stop if it hurts too badly," he whispered, although his cock twitched at what his mouth just offered, but then he felt an answering squeeze in her cunt and already knew her answer.

"No, my love," she whispered earnestly, pressing kisses to his lips and tightening her legs around his waist. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop."

Sandor hardly heard the words she spoke after what she called him then. He was her monster, her hound, her love-all of him, hers. He dug his fingers into her arse and pushed himself from her, then drove back in. He tried going slowly for her sake, but it was too much. His hips surged forward faster and faster, but to his continued surprise, he felt her heels press into his arse, driving him toward her. She groaned against his neck and moaned back into the echos of the Tower. He didn't give a fuck who saw them at this point. The Imp. The Queen. All of them. Let them see the wanton wolf and her rabid dog.

He took his hand from the wall and pressed it to that nub he knew would set her over the edge. She keened into his shoulder, and he felt the pressure of her teeth in his skin. He growled as she bit him, then he heard her whisper hoarsely, "Do that again, Sandor. Please!"

He rubbed her harder, and she started falling apart. Her breathing grew erratic, then he felt her still, but she continued again after a moment, even harder and fiercer than before. His groans and whispered words just turned into a string of curses after that. He heard her moans growing higher and louder, then she found his mouth and pressed her lips to his, thrusting her tongue into his mouth the same way he thrust into her.

Her cunt began pulsing around him, and she ripped her lips from his. He saw her mouth open in a silent scream, then she caught her breath with a sob and came. He dug his head into the crook of her neck and pushed her harder against the wall, thrusted into her once, twice more, then he spent inside her with a painful groan.

Sansa looked right into his eyes when he lifted them back up to her. She smiled brightly, and he almost laughed in his own sated exhaustion. He pulled her off the wall and pressed his arms around her back, while she wrapped hers around his neck. Sandor threaded his fingers through the hair and silks that draped her back, then kissed her again. She laughed and eagerly returned his kisses.


	4. Chapter 4

**TYRION**

Leave it to an old Lannister dog to give him lessons on women. That jab about the whores was particularly laughable. He doubted Sandor Clegane ever got a woman without some tourney coin to persuade her. Then, Tyrion wondered, perhaps they were alike. Men who only bedded whores because those were the only ones who'd have them.

Clegane didn't look like the kind who'd fall in love with them though. _Tysha..._

No, that was his own weakness. Gods damn him for it.

He began making his way back to his rooms, then rounded a corner and stumbled on a woman's scarf. He swiftly picked it up and wondered which of Daenerys's ladies left this streaming behind her. Or perhaps it was one of their many visitors. Tyrion couldn't wait for the time when the Red Keep finally settled down after all these lords and their bannermen visited to bend the knee and ask for stone or soil or a glimpse at a dragon.

Tyrion turned another corner and saw two more scarves waiting for him along the path. He sighed and continued walking, picking them up as he went. It wouldn't do for one of the Queen's visitors to see this mess of lady's clothing strewn around the Keep.

He was already nearing his rooms-three more scarves in tow-when he heard a high-pitched scream around the bend. Tyrion broke into as quick of a run as he could on his stunted legs and emerged at the ground floor of the tower that contained his rooms. His jaw dropped at what he saw.

Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, was pinned to a wall by her sworn shield. The torchlight brought their faces in stark relief, and he saw her eyebrows scrunched together, while that dog pounded into her relentlessly. He dropped the scarves and was already moving toward them, ready to use his dagger on the Hound's legs if he had to. Then, he heard her.

"Do that again, Sandor. Please!"

Tyrion stopped in his tracks, a small gasp escaped his lips. _What?!_ He heard her breathing rapidly, then she rested her chin on Clegane's shoulder and opened her eyes. She seemed momentarily startled at the sight of him, but then her lips slowly widened into a grin. She kept her eyes on him, filled with a lust and passion he'd never thought her capable of, while she pressed into Clegane more earnestly, answering each of his thrusts with a ferocity that almost matched the man sliding in and out of her. Her groans almost became screams, then she came with a sob.

Tyrion turned from them as he heard the Hound follow her. While he walked up the opposing staircase, he looked across and saw them holding each other and laughing. He wondered for a moment whether they were laughing at him, but then he smiled to himself as well and thought, "Well...that's one for the monsters."

He had almost reached the door to his rooms when he heard Lady Stark's words echo up the Tower, "Let's go back to my rooms, and you can really show me what dogs do to wolves." The Hound only growled in answer.

_Seven bleeding hells._


End file.
